I Am More Like You Than You Know
by messed up stargazer
Summary: Continues right after 'Finding Fault in Marble'. Fourth in the 'Useful Platitudes and Skin Contact' series. Grantaire has to spill to Enjolras, but he really doesn't want to. And they say Enjolras has a way with words. R&R!


_Enjolras took a deep breath and said, "We need to talk."_

"About what?" Grantaire asked, trying to pass off Enjolras's' determined expression.

"Your father." Enjolras said simply.

Grantaire went as white as a ghost as his stomach dropped to the ground. He hadn't expected this. "What about him?"

"You know what. Enjolras said.

"For arguments' sake, let's pretend I don't." Grantaire stalled.

"Your nightmare. The look on your face as you told me what happened." Enjolras said bluntly.

"I thought you didn't remember. You didn't remember a week ago." Grantaire murmured.

"I don't remember much. It's hazy but some part of me was awake and remembers it. It's there, whether you like it or not." Enjolras stated.

"Are you sure I can't just pretend to hit you over the head and you forget it?" Grantaire smiled weakly.

"I'm sure." Enjolras pressed.

Grantaire's smile disappeared. He went into the kitchen and opened a bottle of wine. Enjolras didn't stop him.

"What do you want to know?" Grantaire knew he could not resist Enjolras, not for long.

"You said something about your eighteenth birthday but that you were ten when it first started. What happened in between?" Enjolras asked.

"Why do you care?" Grantaire shot, sounding harsher than he thought he should have.

Enjolras flinched. "I wish to understand you. I have listened to all the amis except you. I understand them. I have not shown you the same kindness. I wish to change that."

"As much as I adore you, Apollo, I do not wish your pity. I am beneath you and when you sit on your godly pedestal you cannot hear me." Grantaire said, resigned.

"Then take me off of it!" Enjolras shouted. "I have no desire to be above you Grantaire! I am more like you than you know!"

It was Grantaire's turn to flinch. He had not expected his leader to shout such things in such a way. He sighed and took a long drink from the wine. He would need its effects.

"A lot of things happened in those eight years. What do you remember me telling you?" Grantaire asked.

"Your father used to abuse you and your mother. He gave you wine for the first time. And something about your eighteenth birthday. The rest is... inaccessible." Enjolras's cheeks turned slightly pink.

"Okay then, not much. I have no wish to repeat the story so I will simply summarize it. My father used to get my ten-year-old self drunk and then beat my mother. That went on for two years. When I was twelve, my mother and I went to escape him but somehow he found out. He killed her that night. He used the knowledge of what he did to her to make me complacent. So I never fought back. On my eighteenth birthday, he promised to tell me but instead he hung himself. That is what I told you." Grantaire's voice went from scoffing to dark hatred as he spoke.

"Six years, then. What happened?" Enjolras pressed.

"Why are you asking?" Grantaire shot.

"I have told you. Why do you wish me to repeat?" Enjolras countered.

"You said I was more like you than I knew. Tell me that and I shall tell you of those six years." Grantaire offered his hand.

Enjolras hesitated. "One condition."

"And that it?" Grantaire kept his hand out.

"It does not leave this room. I have not told Combeferre this, and I have no desire for anyone else to know." Enjolras stated.

"Return the favor for me and we shall have a deal." Grantaire accepted and Enjolras shook his hand.

"What do you wish to know?" Enjolras asked, shifting from foot to foot.

"Start from the beginning. That's what most people do." Grantaire said bluntly.

"All right," Enjolras took a shaky breath and began, "My sister was a kind, virtuous and sweet girl. She was three years older than me. She was very beautiful, small in stature, but she was by far the strongest presence in our household. Much more than me. More even than my father. She taught me to always give back to the poor, how to eat without actually touching my mother's horrible food on the night's our cook was off, and how to sew even. She taught me the most important lesson I've ever learned. How to have hope in miserable situations. She was very outspoken. Especially when my father was around. She and he often quarreled, over the slightest things. However, when we had guests over, her entire demeanor changed. She became quiet and withdrawn. I noticed but every time I asked her about it, she just shushed me and told me never to mention it to my father that I knew this. By the time I was eight, my father had already started sending me to boarding schools, and I would only come home for Christmas holiday and summer. The summer of my fourteenth birthday, when she was seventeen, my father invited one of his friends over and together they got quite drunk. When he asked me to stay down and have some champagne, my sister sent me to my room, commanding me to retire for the night. Even my mother told me to go. I didn't want to go but I headed upstairs and lay down to see if I could quell the anxious feeling I had. I must've fallen asleep in my clothes because the next thing I remember was someone trying to take off my shirt. I thought it was my mother. It wasn't. It was my father's friend. When he finally got my shirt open, and the chest he wanted was flat, he realized he was in my room. Being as drunk as he was, he asked me for directions to my sister's room. I froze. I said nothing. I couldn't. Words simply wouldn't form. Thinking I was asleep, he meandered out of my room and I watched him stumbled into my sister's room. I ran to my father and begged him to help her. He did nothing. He said in this house, he was king and my sister had to do whatever he said, as did my mother who, I had not noticed, but was also missing. Later that night, when my father and his friend were asleep, I went to go to my sister's room to tell her she and I were running away. She was dead on her bed. Her throat was slit, a knife loose in her hand. Her dress had been hiked up but her undergarments were intact. I never believed my sister killed herself as my parents said. After that, my mother became very angry. At me, especially. And my father had never liked me. He preferred my sister. I began to hate coming home, as I knew I was not wanted, so I didn't. That was how I met Combeferre. He and I went to the same boarding school, and since his family was all quite sick with the flu, they hadn't wanted to have him come home and we were one of the few kids staying there for the Christmas holidays."

Grantaire said nothing the entire time Enjolras spoke. He simply stared at Enjolras with a look of something Enjolras thought appalling. Understanding. Enjolras wasn't the clearest when it came to facial expressions but this one was clear.

"What happened to your parents?" Grantaire asked in an indifferent voice.

"Soon after, my father got very sick. My mother begged me to come home. I didn't listen. It wasn't until my father himself wrote me, asking me to come home. I still didn't listen. If it hadn't been for Combeferre finding the letter, I never would've gone home. Combeferre forced me to into his family's carriage and told his driver to take me home. And he wasn't to listen to me not matter what I said. When I got there, my mother often had her hand over his nose and mouth to make sure he still had breath in him. He asked for my forgiveness. No. He did not ask. He begged me to forgive him. I asked him why I would. He said he knew he was wrong when he gave my sister to his friends and guests. He had told the police that his friend had murdered his daughter, lied about how he found out of course, and they were going to prosecute him. My father had enough money to make the four-year-old case relevant once more. He was dying. He needed someone else needed to make sure her case wasn't forgotten. My sister deserved justice. I agreed to do just that. When all was said and done, with his friend to face the firing squad even though he deserved more, once more he asked for my forgiveness. I never gave it. I simply went back to school. I told Combeferre my father was dying and I didn't wish to speak of it again. He didn't press the issue. It wasn't even a month later my mother wrote me that my father had died. I burned her letter, all of them in fact. She sent me a few letters after that but I've never opened them. _That_ is what happened to my parents." Enjolras said, his emotions concerning his parents influencing his voice.

"You were right." Grantaire said simply.

"About what?" Enjolras asked, seeming almost exhausted. The black circles underneath his eyes also betrayed his fatigue.

"You are more like me than I knew." Grantaire stated simply. "Did you sleep much last night?"

"No but I've gotten on with worse." Enjolras answered.

"You should get some sleep. I know a thing or two about emotional drainage and the fatigue it causes. I'll tell Combeferre you're here." Grantaire offered.

"Combeferre! I'd forgotten him!" Enjolras smacked a hand to his forehead.

"Let me worry about him, Apollo." Grantaire said. "Go and rest."

"Here." Enjolras went back into the kitchen and got the almost forgotten loaf of bread and butter. He held it out to Grantaire. Grantaire ripped it in two and gave the butter to Enjolras.

"Combeferre will prefer you to eat that. I imagine he constantly nags you about your eating habits." Grantaire laughed, remembering how light Enjolras is.

"He is worse than an old woman with nothing else to do." Enjolras chuckled.

"Get some rest and perhaps we can converse later." Grantaire nodded slightly and pulled at the chair keeping them inside.

It didn't budge.

He pulled at it again.

"Grantaire, do not think like Bahorel. Strength does not solve anything." Enjolras chided pleasantly as he slipped the chair out from under the door-handle.

"Thanks." Grantaire muttered, blushing slightly.

It did not take long before Grantaire reached Combeferre and Enjolras's apartment. He knocked twice and the door was immediately opened.

"Enjy- oh. Grantaire. Have you seen Enjolras? He hasn't come home yet." Combeferre asked worriedly.

"He's still at my place. I feel awful. I accidentally passed out on him and he wasn't able to get a wink of sleep with me crushing him. I left him to get some sleep back at my place. Is that all right with you?" Grantaire asked.

"Of course. And if you can, get him to eat some breakfast. Or lunch, whenever he wakes up." Combeferre said, much more relieved.

"I'll do my best." Grantaire said, congratulating himself on giving Enjolras the bread. Hopefully, he would eat it.

"Thank you, my friend. And if he tells you he has no time, he has to work, tell him the next meeting isn't for another week and that his latest essay isn't due until next Thursday." Combeferre started, trying to see if he could close all of Enjolras's loopholes.

"I shall. I intend to see him asleep when I get home, and I will make sure he does everything you asked." Grantaire assured him and then took his leave of the medical student.

He walked home with a small smile. When he arrived, he saw Enjolras glaring at him.

"What?" Grantaire asked, almost affronted.

"You weaseled your way out telling me of those six years." Enjolras accused.

"Yep but I'm afraid you'll have to wait a little longer. You need to eat and sleep, by order of Combeferre." Grantaire said brightly.

"He is not my mother. And I have already eaten." Enjolras huffed.

"Nope. But he is trying to look out for you. Remember when you caught the flu and you ignored his advice and almost died in the middle of one of those protests you're all so fond of?" Grantaire reminded. The look on Enjolras's face told him he'd already won.

"I have not the time-" Enjolras started weakly.

"Combeferre told me to say the next meeting isn't for another week and that your latest essay isn't due until next Thursday." Grantaire recited.

Enjolras sighed. "I'm not going to win this, am I?"

"You have a snowball's chance in Hell of it." Grantaire said perky.

"What?" Enjolras laughed.

"It's a saying. I made it up." Grantaire said proudly.

"And they say I have a way with words. If I must, can I ask for a favor?" Enjolras smiled slightly as he climbed onto Grantaire's bed, kicking off his shoes which had been on since yesterday.

"Anything." Grantaire accepted, always wanting to help Enjolras.

"I meant to do this last night, but could you-" Enjolras yawned as he settled, "Could you run by Rue Tesson and check if there is something called Café Etoiles?"

"Of course, my friend." Grantaire said.

Enjolras was asleep after that.

Instead of leaving, Grantaire pulled up a chair and waited. Enjolras was going to start talking soon. He was going to be there for every word.

* * *

**Hey guys! Hope you liked that installment. Next one's coming soon. Reviews make me write faster! Adieu, mon chers dévots!**


End file.
